As If You'd Get Away That Easy
by imthekeptainnow
Summary: When Lydia gets hurt, Jackson decides the best thing to do is to leave her and Beacon Hills behind. Lydia has other ideas. Post-S3. Jackson/Lydia. AU. Witch!Lydia. Werewolf!Stiles. Requested.


**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Requested by anon**

**_A/N: _****This is unbeta'd because my beta has lost her internet access for the next four days (I know, its horrible! DX), and I want to get some more prompts answered over the next few days so I can focus on my nanowrimo project.**

* * *

Jackson gripped the straps of his rucksack tightly as he watched her through the window of the hospital room. She was stable, according to the doctors, recovering from severe blood loss and exhaustion. Not that he needed them to tell him that – he could hear the faint beating of her heart; hear the light breaths she released from her chapped lips; her the rush of blood moving around her body.

Lydia was alive, if barely.

He was only here to say goodbye, and even with the knowledge that he'd never see her again, Jackson couldn't bring himself to enter her room. Not while she's like this. Not while knowing that _he_ was the reason she was like this.

The Alpha Pack were violent and vicious, greedily searching for more power, more ways to satisfy their need for bloodlust and dominance, and who better to target than the humans of the Hale Pack? The wolves couldn't be there all the time, every waking moment (although they had tried), and when they weren't, the humans would be unprotected, even with the tricks and techniques that Deaton had been teaching them.

They'd been tricked, enticed out of the safety of their homes and den, to save the pack, their friends, their family, who weren't even in danger in the first place. Stiles had taken his dad's weapon, and Lydia was armed with her magic.

By the time the pack had gotten there, Lydia was fading in and out of life and Stiles had been bitten.

So he had to leave. _To protect Lydia_, he told himself firmly for the sixth time that hour.

"You can go in you know," a familiar voice made Jackson jerk from his thoughts, turning wildly to face Stiles, arms folded across his chest, completely healed, "She'd probably appreciate it."

"She's in a coma. How would she know?" Jackson responded bitterly.

"She would. People in comas can hear what's going on around them, believe or not," Stiles explained, "She'd hear you."

"I-I…" he trailed off shaking his head, "It's just a quick visit. There's no point…"

"So you are leaving then?" Stilinski interrupted, his eyes narrowing, "Just like that, you're going. She's not even awake to say her last goodbyes."

"Its better this way," Jackson insisted.

Stiles laughed coldly. "How is this better? You, leaving without a word to her or a note or anything – of course, that's so much better."

"She'll understand," he brushed the comment away dismissively. _She always did._

"She loves you, you undeserving douche bag," Stiles cursed sharply, "And she won't let you go this easy, and especially not like this."

"Well, she's not going to have a choice, is she?" Jackson snapped back, adjusting his grip on the strap of his bag and stalked away. It took all of his effort not to turn back.

_To protect Lydia_, he repeated.

* * *

"What do you mean he left?" Erica demanded.

Stiles shrugged. "Just that, he left."

"And you didn't try to stop him?" Isaac questioned.

"Of course I tried, but the asshole has it in his head that this will somehow protect Lydia, and have you ever tried convincing that boy out of something? Nearly impossible," Stiles answered.

"I think the bigger question is, what are we going to tell Lydia when she wakes up?" Boyd wondered.

No one was sure of how to answer.

* * *

It was Derek that ended up telling Lydia when she woke up three weeks later. He sat at the side of her bag, as he had been for the past few weeks, alpha watching over his packmate (and also Stiles had insisted he watch over her while the others returned to school, and admittedly, he had a hard time saying no to that boy).

"Where's Jackson?" she had croaked out, eyebrows furrowed as she glanced around her room with confusion, as if he would suddenly appear in front of her.

Derek hesitated. For a moment, he debated about giving her some time to heal before telling her the truth, but when she narrowed her gaze on him, stubbornness setting in, he knew it would be cruel to drag it out. "He's gone Lydia."

Her expression was blank as she blinked up at him, and for a moment, he wondered whether she could actually hear what he had said. "Gone?" she repeated slowly. She licked the dryness from her lips. "Gone where?"

He shrugged. "We're not sure. He didn't tell us. Not even his parents know where he's gone. We do know that he left California though," he added helpfully.

"How?"

"We would have heard about his presence is another pack's territory by now."

"Why…why did he…?"

"He thinks it would protect you, at least that's what Stiles said," Derek explained.

Lydia didn't say anything, merely hummed and averted her gaze to the blankets that were spread out across her lap. She smoothed them out thoughtfully. The alpha watched her closely, warily. She seemed far too relaxed for someone who had just found out that her boyfriend had skipped town.

"Don't worry, we're working on finding him," Derek assured, standing up. He placed his hand upon her head, a comforting gesture, "Just get some rest."

* * *

Lydia breathed out slowly; eyes closed, and tried to ignore everything that was going on around her. To focus on the one thing she wanted desperately, just like Deaton had taught her. The crystal hung from the chain in her hand heavily, swinging aimlessly over the map of the United States.

The pack had been searching for Jackson for weeks, but their abilities were weak that far over state lines and Stiles was still having trouble controlling his new werewolf skills and his magic, so it was up to Lydia to take that route. Of course, she didn't tell anyone. If it didn't work, she didn't exactly what to broadcast her failure, but after going through the list of every place Jackson loved, every place he knew, she didn't have many options yet. She didn't know what she would do if it failed.

She jerked when Stiles' hand closed comfortably around her wrist. His eyes were calm and imploring. "Remember, you need to believe this will work Lydia. Otherwise, it's just a waste of time."

"I know that," she bit back harshly. She sighed, frustrated, and used Stiles grip as an anchor to keep her attention on the matter at hand.

Lydia could feel the magic swelling up within her, churning and swirling, building up pressure that was begging to escape. It had taken a lot of time for her to master control over that burst. Before, it may have left her in a rush that would have left windows broken and her feeling dazed and weak. Now, she took in a deep breath, clenching her eyes tighter, and repeated her will over and over again in her mind: _find Jackson Whittemore. Find Jackson Whittemore. Find Jackson Whittemore…_

The crystal fell roughly from her hand, connecting to the table with a sharp thud that seemed to echo the room. She snapped her eyes open, zeroing in on the place on the map.

"Chicago, Illinois," she announced loudly.

"That's a big place Lydia…" Stiles reminded her hesitantly, "We might not…"

She cut him off. "We'll find him," she stated firmly, confidently, "If only to kick his stupid ass for leaving like that."

"I told him you wouldn't let him go without a fight," Stiles quirked his lips upward into a half amused smile.

"Of course," she sniffed, "I've put too much work into Jackson to just let him _leave_ whenever he pleases." She stood up sharply, "Come on, it'll take us about three days to get there. We should leave now."

* * *

The smell of fish wafted up from the fishing boats and Jackson wrinkled his nose at the stench. He had to bite his tongue not to comment on it. God, he hated it here. He hated the sea. Yeah, he was a swimmer – but in a pool, with proper filtration and little change of getting attacked by fish. The harbour stunk of salt air and gutted fish, and the BO of fisherman that had been out on the water for days at a time. It was disgusting, but working on the pier, helping to load fishing equipment onto boats and unloading the cargo when they return, was the only work he could get on such short notice, and with the fact he hadn't even finished high school before he had moved here.

"Jackson, would you bring those crates into the freezer?" his boss, Randy, asked.

"Sure," he agreed easily, already holding his breath as he bent down to pick the rancid box from the wooden floor. He lifted it up to his chest, letting out a small groan for show, and awkwardly balanced the boxes in his arms.

The freezer was basically a warehouse on the other end of the pier, and Jackson moved on quick legs to get it over to area. He passed it onto another worker, Eric, with a quick smile, before going to return to his post.

A flash of red out of the corner of his eye, making him stop short, his heart picking up its beat in his chest. No, he tried to reason with himself, it can't be. She doesn't know where I am.

But it was her. Lydia Martin, in all her red headed glory, stood on the road across from the pier, arms folded across her chest and her eyes narrowed dangerously. He wanted to move on; act like he hadn't seen her, but it was as if he were frozen to the stop. _How the hell had she found him? It's impossible. No, come on, be serious. This is Lydia you're talking about. She's always been more resourceful than you gave her credit for._

She waited a moment, just watching him, before she stormed over, heels clacking angrily on the wooden planks that made up the pier, and her hands clenched into fists at her side.

"Look, Lydia, I-"

"Hush!" she ordered, silencing him automatically. One hand fisted the front of his tank top and dragged him closer for a hard kiss. He didn't respond for a moment, mostly out of shock for the unexpected turn of events and another because he knew better than to fight for dominance when Lydia was _this_ pissed off. When he finally did kiss back, a brief flutter of pressure, he allowed her to rearrange his lips the way she wanted them, biting down harshly on his bottom lip in warning.

When she pulled back, he blinked wildly, dazed. She gave him a pointed look and used the hand that wasn't gripping his clothes to poise a warning finger towards. "You try that kind of shit with me again Whittemore, and I'll hand your _balls_ to you on a _plate_, understand?"

He swallowed heavily. "Uh-huh, y-yeah."

Lydia smiled brightly. "Good," she stated happily before drawing him back into a kiss. His hands moved around her waist, drawing her closer, the press of bodies that just felt so _familiar _and _right_ that, for that second anyway, Jackson forgot why he had left in the first place.


End file.
